{"id":2797,"date":"2018-11-19T08:58:18","date_gmt":"2018-11-19T15:58:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/?p=2797"},"modified":"2018-11-19T08:58:18","modified_gmt":"2018-11-19T15:58:18","slug":"sid-writes-a-song","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/archives\/2797","title":{"rendered":"Sid Writes A Song"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"inspiration\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Sid Lawry is sixty-two and has been a waiter at Falcon<\/i>, a most excellent restaurant in Lambertville, New Jersey for the last fourteen years. He has lived in Lambertville since he was twelve, having moved here from Queens with his mother Ruth and younger sister Lynette shortly after his parents divorced.<\/p>\n

That same year, Sid\u2019s father Ben moved to Los Angeles with Francesca, the woman he\u2019d been having an affair with for several years, to pursue a career as a writer in the movie and television business. Ben sent birthday cards to Sid and Lynette for the first five years he was in Los Angeles, and then stopped sending birthday cards and did not communicate with them again for thirty-seven years, until a few months before he died. He called each of them to beg their forgiveness for being such a bad father, and they both forgave him.<\/p>\n

Sid is five-foot-eight with a wiry build, his wavy brown hair going gray, his default expression a sleepy smile. Charming and eloquent, he is a superb waiter and was so from the moment he switched to that line of work at the age of forty-seven. Sid\u2019s emergence as a star waiter at Falcon<\/i> came as a huge surprise to his wife Elaine, who for several years prior to Sid\u2019s success, believed he would forever be a person who boasted of unproven talent, never kept a job for long, and was often severely depressed.<\/p>\n

Elaine is five-foot-two, petite, with long brown hair she wears in a bun from the time she gets up in morning until the supper dishes are done, after which she lets her hair down. She has been an archivist at the Princeton University Art Museum for nearly forty years, Princeton just up the road from Lambertville.<\/p>\n

Her doctoral thesis The Inevitable Arrival of Impressionism<\/i> was published as a sumptuously-illustrated coffee table book by a university press, and Elaine surely would have become a professor of Art had she not suffered from debilitating migraine headaches and ferocious anxiety whenever she agreed to give lectures to large groups of students and make presentations to her fellow academics. And so shortly after gaining her PhD, she found her niche far from the public eye in the quiet backrooms of the art museum and has worked there ever since.<\/p>\n

Sid and Elaine have been married for thirty-five years and have two children, Jeffrey, thirty-four, who resembles his father to a striking degree, and Katy, thirty-two, who is seven inches taller than her mother and wears her auburn hair in a long braid.<\/p>\n

When Jeffrey turned twelve, he stopped talking to Sid; and they did not reconcile until Jeffrey was twenty-three. Now they are good buddies and go to several basketball games together every year at Madison Square Garden, Jeffrey a commercial artist and set designer living in Manhattan.<\/p>\n

Katy is a community college English teacher in nearby Bucks County. She has unceasingly adored Sid since the day she was born, and has never stopped believing her father is the great writer he claimed to be when she was a girl, despite his never having written anything in her lifetime.<\/p>\n

Save for those trips into New York City to attend basketball games with Jeffrey, and to go to plays with Elaine, comp tickets courtesy of Jeffrey, Sid rarely leaves Lambertville, though he and Elaine have recently begun planning a trip to Europe for when Elaine retires three years from now. Elaine wants to visit museums and places where some of her favorite paintings were made, and Sid wants to go to plays and bookstores and wander around looking for appealing caf\u00e9s.<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

On a Saturday in early November, Jeffrey and his fianc\u00e9 Nina make the trek by bus from Manhattan to Lambertville, and Katy and her husband Phil drive over from Bucks County to celebrate Sid and Elaine\u2019s thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. Jeffrey and Nina will spend the night with Sid and Elaine in the house where Jeffrey and Katy grew up, and Phil and Katy will drive back to their apartment in Bucks County after supper and dessert.<\/p>\n

They dine at Falcon<\/i> where the staff fawns over them, Sid beloved by everyone who works at the restaurant, the glorious feast a gift from the owners. For dessert, however, they return to Sid and Elaine\u2019s house to enjoy Elaine\u2019s renowned pumpkin pie and sit by the fire in the living room and talk without having to shout over the clatter and din of the restaurant.<\/p>\n

Nina, who is thirty-two and Portuguese, is new to the family constellation, she and Jeffrey having met a year ago, a spring wedding in the works, and she is most curious to learn how Sid and Elaine met.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou go first, honey,\u201d says Elaine, calling from the kitchen that adjoins the living room. \u201cAnd then I\u2019ll correct your errors.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet us not call the details of my version errors,\u201d says Sid, standing in front of the fireplace with his back to the fire and smiling at his children and their partners. \u201cLet us call them variations on a theme, the original theme lost to the vagaries of time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you agree about where<\/i> you met?\u201d asks Nina, vivacious and pretty with long black hair, a talent agent at United Creativity, her Portuguese accent catnip to Jeffrey.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere<\/i> is not in doubt,\u201d says Sid, looking at Elaine. \u201cBut when<\/i> is. She says we met in Ninth Grade at Hunterdon High, I say Eighth. In either case, we liked each other from the get go, and though we each had multiple sweethearts in high school, we were an item for the whole of our Senior year before she cruelly dumped me to clear her calendar as prelude to matriculating at Yale.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI would argue that he <\/i>had the multiple sweethearts in high school,\u201d says Elaine, looking up from making coffee to smile at Nina. \u201cSid was a notorious playboy in high school, whereas I was faithful to Ron Durant for the two years before Sid and I became the aforementioned item. But all in all, he has the gist of our getting together right.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you<\/i> did the dumping,\u201d says Phil, a big gregarious Systems Analyst, thirty-nine, with carrot-red hair and many freckles. \u201cNot Sid.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAmazing but true,\u201d says Elaine, smiling sweetly at Sid. \u201cHe was staying in Lambertville and not looking very hard for a job, while I was an ambitious academic who thought I would probably marry another of my kind.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich she almost did,\u201d says Sid, nodding. \u201cAnd she probably would have had not our tenth high school reunion intervened.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAlso true,\u201d says Elaine, coming into the living room and standing beside Sid. \u201cI arrived at the reunion after many weeks of ambivalence, and there he was in all his twenty-eight-year-old glory. And I was a goner.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLove,\u201d says Sid, putting his arm around Elaine. \u201cThe unsolvable mystery.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWere you a waiter in those days, Sid?\u201d asks Nina, who can\u2019t quite recall the specifics of Jeffrey\u2019s synopsis of his parents\u2019 lives.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. At the time of our tenth reunion I was a shoe salesman,\u201d says Sid, chuckling at memories of those two years in the trenches at Landmark Shoes. \u201cAfter that, before I became a waiter, I had many other jobs. Bartender, UPS delivery person, grocery store clerk, landscaper, and Elaine\u2019s favorite, night watchman at the municipal dump. To name but a few.\u201d<\/p>\n

A silence falls, which often happens after Sid reels off some of the jobs he had before he hit rock bottom the year Katy left for college and he got fired for the umpteenth time and Elaine moved out and got an apartment in Princeton. With his job resume a guarantee no one would hire him, Sid begged an old high school friend for a job bussing tables in the ritzy caf\u00e9 Mon<\/i> Cher<\/i>, and when a flu epidemic knocked out most of the wait staff, Sid was pressed into service and proved to be such an outstanding waiter, the caf\u00e9 manager could not imagine demoting Sid when the epidemic ended.<\/p>\n

A year later, the owner of Falcon<\/i> offered Sid a job, Sid jumped at the chance, and six months later Elaine came home to stay.<\/p>\n

\u201cJeffrey tells me you write poetry, Sid,\u201d says Nina, feeling the need to break the silence.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t say he wrote poetry,\u201d says Jeffrey, shaking his head. \u201cI said he wanted<\/i> to write poetry.\u201d<\/p>\n

Elaine returns to the kitchen to cut the pie and pour the coffee.<\/p>\n

\u201cBoth things are true,\u201d says Sid, smiling wistfully at Nina. \u201cBefore Jeffrey and Katy were born, I wrote poems and plays and screenplays and two novels. But after the kids were born, all I did was talk about writing and how great I could be if only\u2026 something. That was before I found my way and got well. And now that I am well, I claim only to be a waiter at Falcon<\/i>, husband to my marvelous wife, and devoted father to my glorious children.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut if you ever do write anything, I know it will be great,\u201d says Katy, nodding assuredly.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy do you say that?\u201d asks Elaine, pained by her daughter\u2019s blind allegiance to Sid\u2019s old unfounded boasts.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause it\u2019s what I believe,\u201d says Katy, gazing steadfastly at her mother. \u201cI think he\u2019s a genius with words. I think the stories he told us when we were kids are the best stories never written down, and I think the spontaneous poems he makes up for us on our birthdays and at Christmas are the best poems I\u2019ve ever heard. And I know it bothers you I believe in him the way I do, but I don\u2019t think there\u2019s anything wrong with thinking Pop is brilliant.\u201d She shrugs defiantly. \u201cSo there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

When Katy and Phil have gone home to Bucks County, and Sid and Elaine have gone to bed, Nina and Jeffrey sit on either side of the queen-sized bed in the guest room that used to be Katy\u2019s bedroom, responding to business-related emails on their laptop computers.<\/p>\n

\u201cDone,\u201d says Jeffrey, closing his laptop. \u201cNo more hysterical clients until we get back to the city.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI just have one more little bit to write,\u201d says Nina, typing fast. \u201cKulu is coming to New York with his wife next week and they want to take us to dinner. You up for that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, that could be fun,\u201d says Jeffrey, undressing. \u201cWhat\u2019s his wife like?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s\u2026 oh what\u2019s the word when a woman has very large breasts?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBuxom,\u201d says Jeffrey, yawning.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. She\u2019s buxom and loud and bossy. You and I won\u2019t be saying much.\u201d Nina sends off the email and closes her laptop. \u201cI\u2019m touched Kulu wants to celebrate our engagement with us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s quite the upcoming star, isn\u2019t he?\u201d says Jeffrey, crawling under the covers.<\/p>\n

\u201cEverything depends on his next album,\u201d says Nina, taking off her dress and hanging it in the closet. \u201cHe\u2019s got the most beautiful voice and his melodies are wonderful, but his lyrics\u2026 well, he\u2019s so<\/i> young.\u201d She climbs into bed. \u201cYou\u2019re not mad at me, are you? For asking your father if he wrote poetry?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, no,\u201d says Jeffrey, opening his arms to her. \u201cI\u2019m not mad. Pop didn\u2019t mind. It\u2019s Mom who doesn\u2019t like talking about the hard times before Pop found his way.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think Katy is right,\u201d says Nina, settling into Jeffrey\u2019s embrace. \u201cThere\u2019s something remarkable about your father. I love his energy. And his talk is full of poetry. I have a very strong feeling about his talent, even if he doesn\u2019t use it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell you certainly have a knack for discovering talent,\u201d says Jeffrey, no longer angered by the subject of his father\u2019s unrealized potential. \u201cBut it\u2019s kind of a moot point. He hasn\u2019t written anything in thirty-five years.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWould you mind if I asked him if he\u2019d like to write some lyrics for Kulu?\u201d<\/p>\n

Jeffrey ponders her question for a moment and says, \u201cI would bet all the money I have that he\u2019s never heard of Kulu.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cProbably not, but I would give him Kulu\u2019s album,\u201d says Nina, excited by the prospect of Sid writing something for Kulu to consider. \u201cOr do you think asking him would awaken old demons?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think he would politely decline,\u201d says Jeffrey, smiling sadly. \u201cBut Mom would be upset. She\u2026 yeah, that\u2019s a real hot button for her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen I won\u2019t,\u201d says Nina, letting go of the idea. \u201cThe last thing I want to do is upset your mother.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

A week later, in her swank office on the twenty-seventh floor of a seventy-story building a few blocks from Times Square, Nina is meeting with Kulu and his wife Sara. Kulu is twenty-one, his black hair in a ponytail, his mother Turkish, his father British. Sara is twenty-five, a blonde from Brooklyn, brash, and ferociously possessive of her talented husband.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe were talking to Jason Royal,\u201d says Sara, who likes Nina but wishes she wasn\u2019t quite so attractive, \u201cand he said he knows for a fact that movie people are interested in Kulu. Not just for his music, but as an actor. You heard anything about that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAs you know, we\u2019ve gotten several inquiries from people who may want to use his music<\/i> in their movies,\u201d says Nina, nodding. \u201cBut as far as Kulu being in<\/i> a movie, we haven\u2019t had any solid offers. We could produce an acting demo if that\u2019s a direction you want to go, but I really<\/i> think focusing on making his second album fantastic should be our number one priority.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDefinitely,\u201d says Kulu, his accent a mix of British and Turkish. \u201cI\u2019m all about the music, you know, but the words just aren\u2019t coming to me these days. I\u2019m too crazy busy making videos. I\u2019ve got endless music in my head, but\u2026 yeah, the words. I need some time away from all the noise. You know? I mean\u2026 those first twelve songs took me years to write. I wrote Cats In the Alley<\/i> when I was sixteen.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWould you consider collaborating with a lyricist?\u201d asks Nina, thinking of several songwriters she knows who would love to work with Kulu\u2014and now Sid, her future father-in-law, comes to mind.<\/p>\n

\u201cSure, if I like the lyrics,\u201d says Kulu, nodding. \u201cLove to.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho are you thinking of?\u201d asks Sara, frowning at Nina.<\/p>\n

\u201cA few people,\u201d says Nina, directing her words at Kulu. \u201cI\u2019ll ask around. There\u2019s no shortage of poets. The trick is finding the right one for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

With Jeffrey\u2019s permission, and per Jeffrey\u2019s suggestion, Nina sends a copy of Kulu\u2019s first album to Sid at Falcon<\/i> rather than to Sid and Elaine\u2019s house.<\/p>\n

Dear Sid,<\/i><\/p>\n

Kulu is one of my favorite clients. I enclose his first album, <\/i>Singing Dictionary, which was quite successful. He is currently looking for lyrics for his second album of songs. If his music inspires you to write something, I would love to show your words to him. I understand you may not be interested in pursuing this, but I wanted to see if my feeling about you might bear fruit. Looking forward to seeing you at Thanksgiving.<\/i><\/p>\n

Love, Nina<\/i><\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

Driving home after a busy Friday night at Falcon<\/i>, Sid slips Singing Dictionary<\/i> into the CD player of his twenty-year old Camry, notes the time is 10:37, and is pleasantly surprised when a solo guitar begins to play and a man with a sweet high tenor sings a lovely melancholy song about growing up in London, the child of an Englishman and a Turkish woman, his childhood friends British, Turkish, African, and Indian\u2014never imagining that the colors of their skin would figure so largely in how their lives unfolded.<\/p>\n

Sid is enchanted by three of the five songs he listens to on his way home and as he sits in the car in front of his house. The two songs he doesn\u2019t care for are rap songs that sound like ten thousand other such songs, none of which appeal to him, but even Kulu\u2019s rap has touches of melody he finds appealing; and as he climbs the stairs to his front door, he thinks I would like to try to write something for Kulu, but I don\u2019t know if I can.<\/i><\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

Elaine is wearing her old-fashioned blue flannel nightgown, her hair down, as she sits on the living room sofa reading a murder mystery, her nightly habit, their calico cat Cezanne curled up in her lap, the fire in the hearth spluttering.<\/p>\n

When Sid comes in she closes her book and asks, \u201cYou okay? You don\u2019t usually sit in your car for so long. Listening to a basketball game?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he says, sitting beside her. \u201cI was listening to this.\u201d He hands her Kulu\u2019s Singing Dictionary<\/i>. \u201cNina sent it. Here\u2019s her note.\u201d<\/p>\n

Having turned these things over to Elaine, Sid gets up and goes into the kitchen to make cocoa as he always does on Friday and Saturday nights, their two late nights together because Elaine doesn\u2019t have to get up early for the next two mornings to make the drive to Princeton.<\/p>\n

Elaine reads the note from Nina and says, \u201cWhy would she do this?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess she thinks I can write,\u201d says Sid, mixing milk and cocoa powder and a dollop of honey in a pot on the stove.<\/p>\n

Elaine frowns at the cover of Singing Dictionary<\/i>\u2014Kulu dressed as a fairy-tale prince dancing with a human-sized dictionary (with a face and arms and legs) in a fairy-tale ballroom full of people of all ages and sizes and colors wearing fantastic costumes.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy would she think that?\u201d asks Elaine, irate. \u201cBecause Katy persists in her fantasies about you being a great writer?\u201d<\/p>\n

Sid stirs the cocoa and says, \u201cI can\u2019t think why else.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow awkward,\u201d says Elaine, grimacing. \u201cDo you think Jeffrey knows she sent this?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe does,\u201d says Sid, pouring the cocoa into two big white mugs. \u201cI called him on my break tonight. He said Nina asked him if it would be okay, and he suggested she send the album to the restaurant rather than here so I would have the option of telling you or not, in case I wanted to spare you the\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe what?\u201d she says angrily.<\/p>\n

\u201cDispleasure,\u201d he says, bringing the cocoa into the living room, handing her a mug, and sitting beside her again.<\/p>\n

\u201cJesus,\u201d says Elaine, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth. \u201cNow we\u2019ll have all this hanging over us at Thanksgiving. Just what we didn\u2019t need.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSweetheart,\u201d he says, gently. \u201cIt\u2019s not a big deal. She\u2019s a talent agent. This is what they do. They hunt for talent. They follow their hunches. They take chances. There\u2019s nothing wrong with her asking. She\u2019s just doing her job.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you going to say to her?\u201d asks Elaine, distraught. \u201cWhen you send it back?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat depends,\u201d he says, sipping his cocoa.<\/p>\n

\u201cOn what?\u201d she says, glaring at him.<\/p>\n

\u201cOn you,\u201d he says, meeting her angry gaze.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d she says, startled by his reply.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you will give me permission to try to write some lyrics for this singer, I will.\u201d Sid waits a moment before saying more. \u201cBut if you don\u2019t want me to try, I won\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou want<\/i> to?\u201d asks Elaine, mortified.<\/p>\n

\u201cI do,\u201d he says, nodding solemnly. \u201cI think it would be good for me. To try. With no expectations of getting anything I like. Just a bit of trying.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t stop you if that\u2019s what you want to do,\u201d she says tersely.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, you can,\u201d he says kindly. \u201cI will never again knowingly do anything that makes you unhappy. And if my doodling in a notebook, searching for words, makes you angry because of everything we went through for all those difficult years, I won\u2019t do it. But if you can happily let me try, I will.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHappily?\u201d she says, laughing despite her distress. \u201cI have to be happy about it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d he says, laughing with her. \u201cYou have to be happy about it. Not necessarily gleeful, but at least a little happy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy do I have to be happy?\u201d she says, pouting. \u201cCan\u2019t I just be grudgingly accepting?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, you have to be happy,\u201d he says, taking a deep breath. \u201cSo I\u2019ll know we\u2019re free of the old shit.\u201d<\/p>\n

Now he sets his mug on the coffee table, takes her mug from her and sets it beside his, puts his arms around her and holds her close.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d she says, relenting. \u201cI\u2019ll be happy. Probably not gleeful. But happy you want to try.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know what I\u2019ve discovered?\u201d says Sid, talking to Frieda, his friend and fellow waiter at Falcon<\/i>, Frieda tall with curly brown hair, the two of them checking the tables to make sure everything is in order for the first seating of the evening. \u201cMy father is with me when I\u2019m writing. Or it would be truer to say, when I\u2019m trying<\/i> to write.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean \u2018with you\u2019?\u201d asks Frieda, rolling her shoulders in anticipation of five hours of ceaseless labor.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s sitting beside me, watching me,\u201d says Sid, fascinated by the workings of his mind. \u201cHe\u2019s young, the way I remember him from before he left us. When I was twelve. And I hear my mother saying, \u2018I hope nobody wants anything that bastard writes\u2026 the way he treated me, the way he treated you and your sister.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWas he abusive to you?\u201d asks Frieda, giving Sid a worried look.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, he was always nice to me. When he was around. Which wasn\u2019t often. And then he abandoned us. So I suppose if you consider abandonment abuse, then, yes, he was abusive. But when he was with us, I liked him. He was funny. Witty. Liked to wrestle with me on the living room rug. Always let me win in the end. I loved that. Took me to ball games and plays. And he knew everything about everybody in show biz, told the greatest stories about movie stars and Broadway stars and\u2026 a treasure trove of juicy gossip. My sister was crazy about him. She really took it hard when he ran off to Los Angeles. Cried for weeks. Months.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo do you think he\u2019s getting in the way of your writing?\u201d asks Frieda, continuing her warm-ups by twisting her torso to the right and left several times.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, I think he is,\u201d says Sid, folding his arms. \u201cI think maybe he\u2019s always been in the way, along with my mother\u2019s bitterness about him leaving\u2026 and my unresolved sorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe you should see somebody about that,\u201d says Frieda, smiling bravely at the first four patrons of the evening being led to a table in her section.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou mean a therapist?\u201d says Sid, frowning at the idea.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, an auto mechanic,\u201d says Frieda, rolling he eyes. \u201cYes, a therapist. I go to a great guy. I\u2019ll give you his number.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

\u201cSid,\u201d says Olaf, fiftyish and a few inches taller than Sid, his head shaved, his red T-shirt and gray sweat pants and bare feet more suggestive of a yoga teacher than a psychotherapist. He is standing in the doorway of his office, looking out at Sid sitting in one of the two chairs in the small waiting room.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know you,\u201d says Sid, rising from his chair. \u201cI\u2019ve seen you at Falcon<\/i>, but I\u2019ve never waited on you because Frieda always does.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe says you taught her everything she knows,\u201d says Olaf, shaking Sid\u2019s hand. \u201cWelcome.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sid is surprised to see a massage table in the center of the room, no sofa, no desk, and two armless chairs facing each other by the one window.<\/p>\n

\u201cNow I\u2019m confused,\u201d says Sid, laughing nervously. \u201cI thought you were a psychotherapist not a massage therapist.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am<\/i> a psychotherapist,\u201d says Olaf, gesturing to the two chairs. \u201cHave a seat and I\u2019ll explain.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sid sits in one of the chairs, Olaf in the other.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am a licensed psychotherapist,\u201d says Olaf, having made this speech many times, \u201cand<\/i> a licensed massage therapist, but I don\u2019t give massages. I got the massage license so there would be no legal issues arising from my touching my clients. What I do is apply very light pressure to places on your body to facilitate the flow of your memories and feelings. The first session is complimentary. Some people don\u2019t choose to come back after the first time, some people only come a few times, and some come many times. My goal is to help you get unstuck from whatever you\u2019re stuck on. Sometimes that happens in the course of a session or two, sometimes it takes much longer. Any questions?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think you\u2019re psychic?\u201d asks Sid, liking Olaf but feeling wary of him.<\/p>\n

\u201cI think we\u2019re all psychic,\u201d says Olaf, nodding. \u201cAnd it seems the more emotionally unstuck we get, the more access we have to our intuitive power, which is what I think being psychic is. Uninhibited intuition.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you love your parents?\u201d asks Sid, wanting to see how much Olaf will reveal about himself.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d says Olaf, without hesitation. \u201cMy mother was very warm and available and easy to love, while my father related to me intellectually, but I knew he loved me, so I loved him, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHave you ever had a panic attack?\u201d asks Sid, thinking of the many he had in the months after Elaine left him. \u201cI\u2019m talking about the sure-you\u2019re-gonna-die-any-minute kind of panic attack.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d says Olaf, shaking his head. \u201cNot yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sid laughs. \u201cMay you never have one.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d says Olaf, smiling warmly at Sid. \u201cSo what brings you here today? What\u2019s on your mind?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a long story,\u201d says Sid, feeling he might cry, not because he\u2019s sad, but because he is already experiencing relief in knowing he will finally be able to tell his story, the whole story, to someone who will listen and understand and be sympathetic.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve got ninety minutes,\u201d says Olaf, gesturing gallantly to the table. \u201cShall we?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

\u201cThe whole thing was amazing,\u201d says Sid, describing his first session with Olaf to Elaine as they make supper together, this being one of his two nights off. \u201cBut the most amazing thing was when he took hold of my ankles, one in each hand, and applied a little bit of traction, and I felt myself come into my body so<\/i> completely, I don\u2019t think I\u2019ve ever been all the way in my body until that moment.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean \u2018in your body?\u2019 You mean grounded or centered or\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI mean in<\/i>,\u201d says Sid, excitedly. \u201cNot hovering outside of myself. My consciousness, my self-awareness, has always been barely connected to my body, connected by\u2026 I don\u2019t know, tiny threads of floating neurons? But when I came into my body, oh my God, I felt so good, so clearheaded, so strong.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI want to go,\u201d says Elaine, nodding emphatically. \u201cWould you mind if I went to him, too?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy would I mind?\u201d says Sid, embracing her. \u201cImagine if we were both all the way in our bodies, and we were together.\u201d He bounces his eyebrows. \u201cThink of the sex, Elaine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was thinking of not being afraid of everything,\u201d she says, laughing. \u201cBut I will think of the sex, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

Sid is lying on his back on Olaf\u2019s table, his eyes closed, as Olaf stands at Sid\u2019s head, using both of his hands to cradle Sid\u2019s skull.<\/p>\n

\u201cI realize now,\u201d says Sid, speaking quietly, \u201cthat when my father went away, my mother lost her desire to\u2026 I don\u2019t know how to say this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen your father went away,\u201d says Olaf, slowly repeating Sid\u2019s words, \u201cyour mother\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cStopped being tender,\u201d says Sid, seeing his mother sitting at the kitchen table, staring into space, her supper untouched. \u201cStopped being interested in us. Stopped asking us about school, about our friends, about what we were thinking.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what did you do?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think I made an unconscious decision to try to take my father\u2019s place, to become my father, so she wouldn\u2019t miss him anymore, wouldn\u2019t feel so alone. So she\u2019d love us again. That\u2019s when I started writing stories and one-act plays and poems, taking Drama classes and being in plays and singing in the choir, all in imitation of my father. But no matter what I did, she didn\u2019t change back into the sweet woman she\u2019d been before he left. She did soften over the years, and when I became a waiter, she would come to Falcon<\/i> and I would wait on her, and she\u2026 she loved that. Loved the care I took with her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen did she die?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSeven years ago,\u201d says Sid, opening his eyes. \u201cThe year after my father died.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWere you with her when she died?\u201d asks Olaf, moving to Sid\u2019s right side and holding Sid\u2019s hand while gently touching Sid\u2019s sternum.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d says Sid, tears welling up from deep inside him. \u201cI got there an hour after she died. Late again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean? Late again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI mean\u2026 I was never good enough. Just like my father was never good enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you were<\/i> good enough, Sid. You were absolutely good enough. And so was your father. So was your mother. You and your father and your mother and your sister, and I, too, we all traveled through this world of sorrow and delight to the last moments of our lives, which for you and me is right now. And right now, as we\u2019ve said again and again, we can stop telling ourselves those stories about not being good enough, about always being late, about always failing. We can tell new stories. True stories. About how skillful we are at what we do, how creative and inventive and loving we are. You help me so much, Sid, as I help you. That\u2019s the story I like telling and hearing right now. That we are beacons of love for each other and for the world.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s very tender where you\u2019re touching,\u201d says Sid, his tears flowing as never before. \u201cBut I love how it hurts. Fills me with hope.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

\u201cWow,\u201d says Sid, standing at the window in Nina\u2019s office on the twenty-seventh floor of the skyscraper rising from the ordered chaos of Manhattan. \u201cWhat a view. Who would want to be any higher than this?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot I,\u201d says Nina, sitting at her desk typing fast, answering an email. \u201cI\u2019d like to have my office in a beach house in Santa Barbara, and maybe someday I will.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sid sits down on the plush sofa. \u201cYou\u2019re sure I\u2019m dressed okay for where we\u2019re going to lunch?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re perfect,\u201d says Nina, glancing at him.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou said I didn\u2019t need to wear a tie, but everyone at Falcon<\/i> says the place we\u2019re going is off-the-charts fancy, so\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSid,\u201d says Nina, getting up and showing off her slinky red dress, her black hair piled on her head, huge gold hoop earrings dangling from her ears. \u201cI\u2019m dressed up. Okay? Kulu\u2019s wife will be dressed up. But Kulu will be wearing jeans and a T-shirt or a basketball jersey or\u2026 who knows? Men can wear anything they want these days. That\u2019s the new thing for men in show biz. Anything goes. I saw Greta Gerwig having lunch with a guy the other day in a super snazzy restaurant. She was wearing a five-thousand-dollar dress and looked like she was about to accept an Oscar, and the guy she was with was wearing dirty jeans and a faded old pajama top. Trust me. If anything, you\u2019re overdressed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wish I\u2019d known,\u201d says Sid, glancing anxiously at the doorway. \u201cI have a fabulous selection of faded old pajama tops.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNext time, darling,\u201d says Nina, winking at him. \u201cAh, here they are.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sara and Kulu enter Nina\u2019s office, both of them smiling rapturously. Sid jumps up, and Kulu takes Sid\u2019s hand and says, \u201cSid, Sid, Sid, at last we meet in-person.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKulu,\u201d says Sid, the name catching in his throat. \u201cI love those two songs you sent me. My wife and I listened to them again and again and again, and we danced to them, and then I wrote two more songs for you.\u201d He blushes. \u201cI brought them with me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re amazing,\u201d says Kulu, looking into Sid\u2019s eyes. \u201cI can\u2019t wait to see them. You know what happens when I read your lyrics?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d asks Sid, breathlessly.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe melodies are already there, flowing out of your words. This morning I wrote the tune for Heart Song<\/i>. It\u2019s so beautiful. You\u2019re gonna love it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

Heart Song<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Here we are, you and I, growing older, standing by.<\/p>\n

I propose a daring quest. You go east. I\u2019ll go west.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

We may never meet again in this dimension.<\/p>\n

We may never meet again in this dimension.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

What we\u2019re seeking is what we\u2019ll find<\/p>\n

when we overcome the secret mind<\/p>\n

they put inside us long ago<\/p>\n

so we don\u2019t remember what we really know.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There\u2019s the crossroad. Here\u2019s the dawn.<\/p>\n

Say goodbye. We\u2019ll both be gone.<\/p>\n

Leap the boundaries. Break the rules.<\/p>\n

Take no prisoners, don\u2019t be cruel.<\/p>\n

Sing your heart song. Sing your heart song.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

We may never meet again in this dimension.<\/p>\n

We may never meet again in this dimension.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Find the entrance. Run the course.<\/p>\n

Change your heart song at its source.<\/p>\n

Change the grammar. Change the text.<\/p>\n

Change your thoughts of what comes next.<\/p>\n

I tell you, my love, we will find a way to end<\/p>\n

the reign of sorrow and fear and misunderstanding.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

We may never meet again in this dimension.<\/p>\n

But we will always hear our heart songs.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Sid Lawry is sixty-two and has been a waiter at Falcon, a most excellent restaurant in Lambertville, New Jersey for the last fourteen years. He has lived in Lambertville since he was twelve, having moved here from Queens with his mother Ruth and younger sister Lynette shortly after his parents divorced. That same year, Sid\u2019s […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[5114,5109,83,5103,5106,5107,5112,84,4909,5110,1437,4624,5108,51,5102,1251,5115,5113,9,5111,33,5116,5104,5105],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2797"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2797"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2797\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2800,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2797\/revisions\/2800"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2797"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2797"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2797"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}